H5N1
by CSI Clue
Summary: AU Future fic Geeks survive.
1. Chapter 1

**H5N1  
**

The time prior to the first year is hard to remember; at least for Sara. Most of it is a blur of thoughts and images when she stops to recall anything about Life Before. She can keep looking forward in the daytime, but at night, after the fire is banked and Grissom wraps around her, the dreams sometimes come, vivid and unrelenting.

Death. Seeing it, hearing it, trying to work around it until it wasn't possible to ignore the truth and then, even now, feeling choking breathless panic at the sound of a sneeze or a cough—

They both still wash their hands at least three times a day.

00oo00

He's let the beard grow back; it's the least of his worries, and it comes in handy in keeping his neck warm. Out here the days can be hot, but nights are unforgivingly cold in the winter, and any natural edge helps. Sara teases him about it once in a while, toying with the curls along the edges. Grissom doesn't mind—it's good to hear her laugh, and her own hair is over her shoulders now when she lets it down in the evenings.

Sometimes she gripes about cutting it, but he's talked her out of it each time. He likes her hair because it smells good, and feels good when he buries his face in it. It smells like life.

00oo00

It's the best cabin of the ones up here. It's got an empty stable, a storage shed and a ground well. Grissom remembers hearing all about it more than once, including where the keys were kept. The lake is about a mile down the road, and from where they are they can see both the road and across the lake. No electricity of course, and while they've got some running water, Grissom predicts that will probably stop within a month or so.

He's right, and when the last few drops trickle out three weeks later, Sara stares at the faucet, feeling her panic rise again. Water. God. Who remembers water?

00oo00

There isn't a lot of spare space in the cabin anymore, so they've rearranged the furniture to make room for the priorities. The guest bedroom is full of books, carefully stacked from floor to ceiling, in piles arranged by topic. The most important ones—the medical and first aid ones—are right by the door, even though both of them have the important parts memorized. In the early days they would quiz each other in the firelight. Sara remembers it well.

The field guides are next; well-thumbed, along with the maps. After that the novels are piled up along with the beat-up encyclopedia (missing the T volume) textbooks and one bible. Once in a while Sara is tempted to look through the cookbooks, but the photos always make her hungry. Sometimes she uses one of the fashion magazines to restart the fire.

00oo00

They brought Bruno. He learned. The first week after the fifty pound bag of kibble ran out, he brought back half a rabbit to the back porch. Grissom took it and looked at Sara. She shrugged.

Bruno hunts for himself most mornings and comes back when his stomach is full. He sleeps in the cabin and still wags his tail when Sara calls him. They both worried his collar would snag and took it off, but he whined until they put it back on him. Sometimes in the middle of the night he paces to the door and growls, even though neither Grissom nor Sara can hear anything outside.

00oo00

The dream always starts out the same way—a sense of unease and normal things all around. This is the evidence. This is the flashlight. This is the case.

Then things rip at the edges. Sara hates the dream, the moment when she KNOWS she's dreaming and still can't stop the images fluttering through her mind like a shuffle of cards in a casino. News. Emails. Warning. Shots. Panic. Death. Death. Death.

When she opens her eyes she can't see because of the tears, but Grissom's arm around her is what she clings to.

00oo00

Grissom never in his life thought that toilet paper was the epitome of civilization, but it is. Living with it has always been an unrecognized luxury. Life without it is—well it's not the life he imagined with Sara. Raids to the other, empty cabins have given them a bit of a stockpile in the first months, but even so, it's the Nevada Yellow Pages for now.

The yellow bucket stands in the stable, away from the house. At first both of them were self-conscious about stepping out, but the practicalities of life overcame that damn quick. First chore of the morning is taking it to the creek and dumping it out, rinsing and bleaching it. Putting the seat back on it.

00oo00

The cabin faces the lake, and they can see other, empty cabins along the opposite shore. Both of them have been looking for smoke, and listening for engines. So far, nothing. As far as they can tell, they've got no neighbors.

It's possible anybody who had a place up here is dead, or has chosen to go elsewhere; after all, it's desolate and uncivilized in 80 percent of this state. Every night Sara cranks the radio and patiently goes through the dial, listening for news while Grissom sharpens the ax, or washes the dishes. They get the EBS, which hasn't changed in months, and sometimes snatches of other broadcasts.

When it's music, they both listen until it fades away. Grissom tells her some stations have their own generators.

00oo00

Propane. The stove runs on it, and out in the storage shed there are twenty six canisters. Grissom's confident they'll last for at least two years, maybe longer if they're judicious with it. He wants to scout some of the other cabins and bring back any tanks they have. Sara agrees—they may not have running water, but being able to cook is a hell of a luxury.

Beans and rice. A hundred pound bag of each. Sara stores them in clean, galvanized garbage cans to keep the vermin out of them. She knows that beans and rice make a complete protein. It's not the most exciting food, but mixed with canned soup, or chili powder, it's fuel for the body. There are enough cans in the pantry to flavor the carbs as needed.

She'd kill for some yogurt through. Or pizza.

00oo00

Grissom wonders who's left. Sometimes he thinks about it when chopping wood and stacking it. Not Wendy—she was one of the first to topple over at work. Not Warrick, damn it, who never made it out of the parking lot a week later, coughing and choking. Not Ecklie, rotting in his office. Grissom hopes like hell that Jim made it through, and is out somewhere surviving. He wonders if Catherine and Lindsay made it to Montana or not. If Nick managed to get back to Texas before the highways were shut down by the National Guard.

He wishes H5N1 hadn't happened, and when he feels his anger well up, Grissom gets back to chopping wood, going at it mindlessly until the rage drains away. They have a lot of wood piled for the winter.

00oo00

The first couple of raids are easy; the people who vacationed here tended to leave an extra set of keys somewhere around the porch or front steps. Grissom shows her how to find them and get inside. Taking the good stuff feels like stealing, but hey—they've got to live. Soap, yes. TP, yes. Dry goods, medicine, clothing that fits, bedding, batteries, knives, bleach---

If they find bodies, though, they pass by those cabins, and leave the dead alone.

00oo00

In the first month, they moved the bed out to the living room, because that's where the fireplace is. When the sun goes down, Grissom tends the fire, and they've both adjusted to working in the limited light. Sometimes he reads aloud. There comes a time though, on some nights when one of them will look at the other with that painfully sweet expression of lustful need.

Out of clothes and into bed, touching, kissing, taking and giving in a way they never used to, Before. Now it's more than just making love, and they both know it. They get angry and excited and demanding in bed. This is life and this is good.

00oo00

Grissom keeps the calendar, marking off the days in his thoughtful fashion. He's waiting; her last injection was nearly half a year ago, so it's bound to happen soon. It does. One morning Sara is cursing as she comes into the cabin, and her look is murderous. She crosses to him at the desk and he looks up.

"Damn it!"

He takes the red pen marks the letter P on the calendar.

00oo00

The goats are a happy accident. Bruno herded them in, circling around, keeping the three of them moving forward, their jumpy reluctance clearly a challenge to the dog. Grissom manages to snag the male by his horns and sees the faded collar: _Bucky._ Someone's pet. Someone's 4H project maybe, but not now. The other two have no names, apparently.

The 1978 World Book Encyclopedia doesn't have much to say that's helpful about goats. Sara sets about domesticating them anyway, keeping them in the stable at night and staking them out on long tethers of old phone cable—the one thing they won't chew through. Bucky re-tames nicely, and the other two begin to associate Sara with leftover beans and rice.

00oo00

Sara hates the damn laundry. Even though Grissom helps her, it really is an all day affair, and despite what the old TV commercials used to claim, line-dried clothing is stiff and rough. They do the towels and underwear every week, and the bedding and anything else about once a month.

The Nevada sun dries it all quickly though. The line runs from the house to the stable, and each laundry pin is like gold. Grissom adds them to the scavenging list, right under 'socks.'

00oo00

Bucky's nickname is now officially "Horny Bastard" and Grissom smirks every time it rolls off of Sara's tongue. She's taken to staking Bucky out by the creek and keeping the nannies on the far side of the storage shed, but Grissom is pretty sure the damage is done and in about three months they'll know for sure.

He reminds Sara that kids will mean milk. Sara reminds him that goat's milk is incredibly gross.

00oo00

They make treks, mapping out the area, scouting their territory. The lake is to the north of them. Major hills to the East. Lower hills to the West. On the map, Sara marks the cabins they've visited and crosses on the ones with the Dead. Grissom suggests one last two day trip around the lake before winter sets in and she agrees.

They lock the goats in the stable with enough water and food for a few days. Lock up the cabin doors and windows. Pile Bruno into the pickup and take off. Sara keeps looking back at the cabin until it's out of sight.

00oo00

End of the first day: Jackpot. An untouched drugstore and Seven Eleven down off the road around the lake. It's like Christmas, and for a while neither of them can talk. They walk in to the Seven Eleven and even though the whole place stinks, Grissom goes straight to the glass cases and pulls out a beer. He cracks it open; not a lot of fizz, but he drinks it in, the foam spilling on his beard.

Sara has one too, laughing softly at the flat, wonderful taste.

00oo00

So much. Grissom suggests caching some of it, and Sara agrees—farm it out, keep it safe. They start loading the truck—canned goods, the entire First Aid aisle and the pharmacy.

Sara catches Grissom eyeing the condoms, and both of them pause. He holds up a package and points out the date on the back. In a quick monotone he talks about being eighty percent effective but they're going to have to rely on rhythm eventually. They're going to have accept that unless they stop having sex, within the next few years, it _will_ happen--

00oo00

Sara tells him to take a few boxes and look for more sugar. Grissom sighs and stuffs them into his pocket. Thoughtfully, he cleans out the supplies of tampons and pads, then goes to look for arthritis medicine and sheets. Sara already has loaded up the chocolate into as many Tupperware containers as she can, and is scooping up packets of yeast from the upper half of the baking aisle. The last thing they load onto the truck is kibble.

Bruno is thrilled to have rawhide. Sara is thrilled to have Nestlé's. Grissom is thrilled to have toilet paper.

00oo00

They find a deep freezer in one of the nearby cabins, and emptied out, it makes a pretty impregnable storage bin. Into it go as many of the cans and rice and medical supplies as they can fit. A good cache for the coming winter.

The rest of the stuff they stack in the stable loft. It's hard work, and afterwards Sara suggests they bump up bath night. Grissom agrees, and is damn glad they've got Ben-Gay now.

00oo00

Bath night. Here's how it goes: They pull out the galvanized wash tub from the barn and set it up in front of the fireplace. Grissom boils water on every burner on the stove while Sara pours in water from the well and adds a little bleach. Once the hot water is added, someone gets in the tub. Usually it's Grissom, and Sara kneels at the side, helping him scrub up. In the firelight it's warm and intimate and they both enjoy it a lot more than they'll admit.

Once Grissom's done he dresses and drags the tub to the porch to dump the water off the side. Sara heats more water and Grissom fills the tub with well water, adding bleach. When Sara gets in, Grissom soaps her back and washes her hair, rinsing it with warm water from the tea kettle, because he loves to hear her purr when he does. They both dump the water for the last time, bank the fire and Grissom braids her hair sometimes.

They always fuck like fiends after bath night.

00oo00

One dawn they hear the goats bleating loudly. Grissom grabs the rifle and heads out. Sara hears a shot and runs out to him. The blood trail leads off into the woods, but Grissom is sure that the wolf won't make it. He spends the day reading up what little they have on wolves.

Afterwards, Sara laughs at him urinating on the corners of the stable. He reminds her that not only are there wolves, but mountain lions too and that thought stops her.

00oo00

Sara hears an engine. She turns from the layer of goat shit she's hoeing into the garden and looks fearfully towards the lake. Grissom, who's been building a bookcase, joins her out in the yard. Across the lake, along the ribbon of highway, they can see the truck moving slowly. Sara runs for the binoculars, and once she focuses on the truck she says nothing. Grissom takes the binoculars and looks for himself.

A man. A woman. A kid. People. They watch the truck until it disappears among the trees on the far side of the lake.

00oo00

That night they crank the radio and search carefully. EBS has changed its message. The numbers leave them stunned. Grissom makes a note on the calendar. Sara puts beans on to soak, and later, when she goes out to pet the goats and give them leftover mash, she finds herself crying.

Only three million left. In the whole damned country. Only three million.

00oo00

They don't hear the engine again. They don't see any smoke in the sky. A week later, Sara tells him to throw away the condoms. Grissom blinks, but doesn't argue. After she's had him, sweet and hard, she tells him that she decided when they first ran to the mountains that if he died, she'd probably kill herself. But if there was someone else depending on her . . .

He nods. Grissom gets it, because he's the same way. Life without Sara wouldn't be worth it. Life with a little piece of Sara though, that would make the difference. That would be life, and it would be good.

_  
End of part one_

**  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Autumn is setting in; the nights are getting cold, and Sara makes it a point to pile more blankets on the bed. Grissom takes the goats out to the lake, tethering them there while he fishes. One of the nannies is rounding out now, and Sara gives her a few stale granola bars extra each night.

The sunshine is thinner, and there's a morning fog most days. Both of them begin wear sweaters inside the cabin.

00oo00

Grissom realizes his hair is now to his shoulders, and debates letting Sara cut it. They have scissors, but they're dull. She tells him matter-of-factly that the mountain man look works for her, and if he wants to wear it in a ponytail, she can live with that.

It feels odd at first, but after a few weeks, Grissom doesn't even notice it curling down his back.

00oo00

Neither one of them have ever seen a goat give birth before; it's messy and although everything seems to be okay, Sara is nauseous for most of the day. Watching the nanny eat the placenta didn't help, nor did the smell of blood.

Grissom moves mama and baby to another stall and dumps buckets of water in the stable dirt, diluting the dark stains. He worries about predators, but says nothing to Sara.

00oo00

Sara stares at the calendar, realizing there's something about the end of November that she has forgotten. As she stands at the desk, looking at the pages neatly laid out in Grissom's block printing, an acorn falls from a hole in the ceiling and hits the page.

She remembers. Acorns and pumpkins and corn. Sara wonders if this year, she can find any damn thing to be thankful about.

00oo00

More fishing. Sara watches the goats, including the kid. She's named it Fred, Son of Bucky and Regina. This whimsy Grissom accepts with a straight face—or as much of one as he can manage. He's not one to talk, not with a tarantula in his past and a dog in his present.

It's a sunny day; warm for autumn, and Sara lies back on the blanket, watching the clouds. She wonders if she can distract Grissom from fishing, and unbuttons her blouse. The sun feels good, and even though her eyes are closed, she grins when she hears the fishing pole drop; feels a shadow loom over her.

They don't catch any fish, but afterwards, Sara remembers that day often: the feel of Grissom on her; in her, breathing her name into her ear, his voice aching with passion

00oo00.

Grissom turns over the engine, and plugs the battery charger into the lighter socket. Rechargeable batteries that go in to their walkie talkies—right now the truck is running, but he knows he needs to start it up at least once a week to keep it going. Already Grissom's brought back gas for the tank, siphoning what he can find from the cars in the surrounding cabins. He's taken a few of their batteries too.

He reaches deep into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. It's odd, Grissom thinks, that he still carries it, even though there's no reason to now. Maybe it's because of what's hidden deep in it. The thing he hasn't mentioned to Sara because it was supposed to symbolize their future, which has been fucked over now by H5N1

00oo00.

They fight. This isn't new; they've bickered over everything from how much coffee to dole out to whose turn it is to muck out the goat stalls. Most of the time, it's a matter of venting a little frustration before compromising.

Not this time.

Grissom is yelling, his words a roar that echoes through the cabin. Sara is yelling back, and slamming doors go off like gunshots in the quiet. She storms off, leaving him on the porch calling to her to stop acting like an idiot and come back.

After a couple of hours, he looks for her. Not in the stable. Not in the storage shed. Not down by the lake. She's got Bruno with her, so he's not worried precisely; just . . . concerned.

00oo00

She fucking hates him right now. Just because he's the only other person on the planet right now does NOT mean the Word of Grissom is law, and Sara fumes as she heads down the road. It feels good; hell GREAT to give into some seriously pissy wrath right now.

It's her body for God's sake, and she knows more about it than he does! Yes, occasionally she's tempted, but Sara has faith that if she actually needs something, she'll know it. There's no point in changing her diet until after she's pregnant anyway, winter or no winter.

After all, he's already part of the reason she doesn't eat the stuff.

00oo00

The sun is going down, and he's pacing the porch. Grissom has a lantern hanging there, a Coleman from the Seven-Eleven. He can't sit and he can't eat, can't do anything but walk back and forth.

Grissom can't even think. Nothing logical is coming into his mind, and the one frantic stream that circles around in his brain is an ongoing plea, wordless and painful: _Come home, come home, I'll do anything you want, just come home to me, Sara._

He remembers when he first had this thought, years ago.

Before H5N1. Before Natalie.

_Come home._

00oo00

In desperation, Grissom loads up the shotgun and takes it outside. Carefully, he points it up, into the hazy purple sky and fires, letting the unearthly 'boom' of it rattle roosting birds out of the trees and make all four goats in the barn bleat indignantly.

He fires the second shell and sets the gun down, listening to the rustle through the trees, turning towards the road. If he doesn't hear anything in a few minutes, he's getting the truck.

Sara runs, feeling a stitch in her side. Bruno is charging ahead of her, catching wind of her anxiety. She pumps a little harder, making it up the slope of the hill and when did it get so damned dark anyway? She stumbles, cracks her knee hard on the asphalt, gets up and limps on.

The shotgun blast keeps echoing in her ears.

00oo00

He hears the dog first, and relief makes him dizzy. Bruno bounds up, barking, and dancing around him, a sleek and muscled fur torpedo. Grissom pushes him down, thinks better of it and spares a few quick pats as he lumbers down the dirt driveway.

They nearly crash into each other, and then Grissom grabs Sara in a hug that drives all the air out of her lungs. He's got his face buried in the warm hollow along the side of her neck, and in shock Sara feels how wet his cheeks are.

The next day Grissom tells her she can eat any damn thing she wants. Forever.

And that they're getting married.

00oo00

Sara wakes up the next day and finds out he's dead serious. Grissom's been up since dawn and the cabin is spotless. She finds him baking up a package mix of cake, humming to himself. She wants to know if she should dress for the occasion, and he nods.

She laughs. It feels good. Sara gets it now--that some things will always have to be bigger than anger. Humming herself, she goes looking through her closet for something to wear.

00oo00

Grissom leads her down by the lake. He won't tell her what's in his backpack, and Sara is burning with curiosity but keeps her impatience in check a little.

The blue velveteen sundress is a little loose, but it looks good with her tan, even under the bulky sweater. Grissom doesn't look too bad either, in a green flannel shirt and the only clean khakis he has.

Once they reach the grassy little hillside, Grissom opens the backpack and pulls out a few silk roses for her. He also pulls out something so commonplace that she blinks a little. It's dolled up in satin ribbon though, and Sara stares at it when he sets it on the ground.

00oo00

Grissom takes her hands and looks into her face, and Sara wants to laugh and cry at the same time. Her stomach is quivering, but when she looks into his eyes, she can drown in that blue. Sara nods, tightens her grip in his, and together, they jump the hearth broom.

Grissom pulls out his wallet and digs the little diamond band out, telling her its history in a few short sentences. Sara slips it on; it's too big, so she puts it on her middle finger instead, and cries.

They eat cake in bed, off of each other.

00oo00

Sara's surprise is bubbling up, and she cups it in her hands lovingly. Grissom stares at the grey blob, waiting for her to say something. It looks hideous, like a brain in a jar, and smells worse.

She asks him in a sultry voice, if he likes sourdough. Grissom's eyes widen in pleasure.

00oo00

Here is how Sara's days go: Rising, putting on water to boil; tea most days, coffee on Saturday and Sunday. Look over the daily list: Monday wash, Tuesday forage, Wednesday bake, Thursday muck and garden compost, Friday plan meals and stock up water, Saturday and Sunday optional to read or anything else that didn't get done in the week. Bedding down an hour after sunset.

The routine is comfortable.

Here is how Grissom's days go: Rising, making breakfast, Monday laundry and sewing, Tuesday forage, Wednesday move the goats to pasture, Thursday garden and household repair, Friday turn over engines and walk the perimeter. Saturday and Sunday, bath and books. Bedding down with Sara each night.

It works for him.

00oo00

It all comes back in a moment, all those skills. The two of them study the body of the deer lying in the ravine on the other side of the creek. From the development of the maggots, Grissom figures it's been dead three days. Sara spots the bullet hole deep in the flank and digs out the slug with her knife; a nine millimeter. Grissom looks back for a blood trail and evidence of a direction.

The best estimation they can make is that the deer came from the southeast. Probably ran between three and five miles before dropping here.

Both of them pass the bullet back and forth, not saying anything.

00oo00

They have a system now, with whistles. One blast: come here; Two: stay away. It's not perfect, but both Sara and Grissom know they're going to run into other people sooner or later.

And some of those other people won't be nice.

00oo00

Grissom worries. He has a hell of a lot to lose, and despite the state of his knees and the white in his hair, he's not going to give any of it up without a serious fight.

Sara worries. Everything that's precious to her right now is within arm's reach, and she's not giving any of it up without a serious fight.

00oo00

Grissom piles rocks around the well. It's a got a hand pump and a heavy wooden cover, but he knows once the water starts freezing, they'll have to crack the ice to draw anything up. A dropped rock will get the job done, he hopes.

He checks the woodpile. Tomorrow he and Sara will take the truck and move wood from the piles at the other cabins.

Winter is coming; he can feel it.


	3. Chapter 3

They wake up to snow. They've been expecting it, but the reality shakes them both a bit. Sara makes coffee in honor of the day. Grissom comes in from the stable, wincing.

Outdoor plumbing has never been more . . . outdoors.

It's not a heavy snow, and within a day or two it melts off, but both Sara and Grissom start talking about another trip to the pharmacy for more socks and gloves, if they can find them.

00oo00

The drug store is still untouched by human hands when they get there, although the tracks of a few animals are abundant around outside. Sara searches through the tiny section of clothing, snagging a couple of sweatshirts before pulling every pair of panty hose and socks she can find. She hears something and assumes it's Bruno coming down the aisle.

It's not.

Two minutes later, Grissom hears all about the family of possums that hissed at Sara before marching off towards the stationary.

00oo00

Grissom looks over the infant supply aisle, his gaze taking in the plastic packs of diapers. Part of him wants to take them now, even if Sara isn't pregnant, and in any case she wouldn't be giving birth until July or so if she was. He does spot a book, however and picks it up, tucking it into his pack.

Might as well read up in the meantime.

Sara comes around the end of the aisle, catching him in the act. For a moment her face shows so much: fear, love, amusement, delight, compassion. He tries to shrug, but he can't. She comes closer and slings an arm around him in the semidarkness.

00oo00

On a chance, Grissom points the truck down the road; they've got nearly a full tank, and he's curious if there are any other stores. They drive a few miles, enjoying the heater, comfortable for the moment. As they round a bend, they find a tiny strip mall: a Burger King, a hardware store and a Pay-Less.

Sara announces they're going Christmas shopping.

00oo00

Neither one of them feel good about breaking the plate glass window, but it's the quickest way in. Boots, slippers. Socks. Laces. A padded stool. They load up and put it in the truck in a few trips.

00oo00

The hardware store is harder to break into, but when the go around the back, they use the tire iron from the truck to snap the lock on the roll down door. It's dark inside, and smells dusty and slightly mildewed. Grissom leads the way, moving methodically down the first aisle.

They've got priorities here.

Saws, axes, propane, kibble—neither Grissom nor Sara are exactly sure the goats will eat dried dog food, but it's worth a try—Sara steps into the garden department and begins looking through the seed displays. Cucumbers, pumpkins, carrots, cabbage, green beans . . . she's momentarily dizzy looking at the selections. Quickly she fills her pockets with the little envelopes.

00oo00

Grissom finds the rack of books and takes a moment to look through them. Home Repairs he takes, along with the Nevada Gardening Guide and Home Canning. He looks towards the front of the store, wondering if there's still room in the truck for one of the aluminum rowboats.

Sara picks up a few gardening tools, humming to herself. The plot she's been working on is bedded for the winter, but by spring it should be more than ready for planting

She freezes for a moment, realizing she's already thinking about next year.

00oo00

As they drive home, Grissom asks if they're going to observe Christmas. Sara tells him that they have enough stockings now, so sure.

00oo00

Goat-milking is a hard won skill, and Sara always gets more than Grissom. He knows it's because her hands are warmer, and she sings to the nannies. Regina is a bountiful girl, and they have milk everyday with lunch and dinner. Sara has experimented with trying to make cheese, but it hasn't been a success; not like her bread.

00oo00

It's snowed again, and Grissom wishes heartily that the indoor plumbing still worked.

00oo00

A flock of Canadian geese pass overhead, honking. Grissom tells Sara that if he gets the chance to bring one down, he'll cook it himself.

Sara nods; he's got a right to eat what he wants, too.

00oo00

When Sara goes out a week later to milk, she spots the body on the dirt. The other three goats are crowded away from it in the furthest corner. She freezes, then slowly comes closer.

The other nanny—Sylvia—lies cold and stiff on the stable floor, tongue hanging out, froth on her mouth. Sara touches her cold flank and blinks back a few tears.

Yeah it's just a goat. But she had a name.

00oo00

Grissom carries the body in a wheelbarrow down a mile from the cabin and buries her. He checks her mouth and slowly pulls out a cold, saliva-covered dishtowel from the slack throat.

The irony isn't lost on him as he digs the grave, cursing the frozen ground. All that worry about coyotes or bobcats—but this—

Just an accident this time

00oo00

Sara is depressed for a few days, and spends her time in the stables. Grissom lets her—they're both more attached to the animals than they want to admit, even to each other.

He gets ready to walk the perimeter. Here's what he takes: a hatchet, clipped to his belt. One of the whistles. A compass. The shotgun. A small first aid kit. A notebook and pen. Sometimes if Grissom's doing the short route he takes Bruno, but for longer trips he leaves the dog with Sara as extra security.

The perimeter is a wide four mile walk around the landmarks that define what Grissom calls home. The turnoff from the main road is the first landmark. Grissom checks to make sure that the metal gate across it is still closed, and that the new lock he's put on it is still in place. Then a mile along the hill and ridge to the grove of big pines. The land is hilly here and Grissom goes slow so he doesn't disturb any snakes.

From the grove across the log that spans the creek. Grissom checks for wildlife: Squirrels. Chipmunks. A few foxes once in a while.

On the far side of the creek is one of the cabins of the dead. One body in it, old and at rest on the bed. Grissom hopes whoever the woman was that she died peacefully.

Back across the creek on the footbridge and along the now overgrown path. He's keeping an eye on some of the plants along the upper bank—cattails by the look of them. Edible, come spring.

Down between the cabin and the lake, where the slope of the land runs down to the water in the distance between the trees. Grissom checks the bark for territorial marks. Deer are around, he knows.

He worries about what hunts the deer.

00oo00

Sara has a secret for Christmas. Something good; something Grissom will love. She's kept it hidden from him, but it's hard to keep doing that now that the two of them are indoors most of the time. The holiday is two days away, and both of them have been cooking and keeping secrets.

00oo00

Christmas comes. Out of bed they both hurry through the chores. The day is cold and foggy and smells like snow; Sara is glad for the mittens as she pumps water up from the well.

00oo00

When she comes in, she sees that Grissom has set up a tiny branch of a tree on the kitchen table, and decorated it with paperclips and small pinecones and little plastic bottle caps. The sight hits her hard, and for a moment Sara tears up, thinking about everyone who isn't looking at a Christmas tree this year.

So many of them. Gone.

She wants to smash it; sweep it off the table with a swing of her arm and make it go away, along with all the hard black pain welling up in her stomach. Flu for God's sake! Nothing noble about it.

Then Grissom is there at the doorway to the living room, his smile tremulous and not comprehending. She looks away from the tree, wrapping her arms around herself and he goes to her.

He tells her it's a mistake. He'll take it down.

No, she says. Greg loved trees. Nick too. And Catherine always bitched about whether you put tinsel on before the lights or after. And Warrick used to help himself to the little candy canes off the one in the break room.

They both hold each other and cry.

00oo00

After that it's better. Grissom cooks up massive amounts of spaghetti, and she helps him. They eat too much and curl up on the sofa, touching each other.

He's made fudge for her.

She gives him the surprise: a Complete Works of Shakespeare she found in one of the empty cabins, and asks him if he'll read to her at night. Grissom nods, quietly delighted.

Grissom gives Sara a green sweater, the book on canning, and the best surprise of all—ten two pound plastic jars of peanut butter, some of the chunky, some smooth.

00oo00

The both figure it was probably that night.

00oo00

He hates to tell her, but his throat hurts. And he can't stop sneezing. His nose is red, and Sara's on the alert before he can say anything. Swift, efficient, quiet—she's got decongestant and throat lozenges and Tang out.

Grissom can tell she's terrified.

Just a cold, he reassures her. All the congestion means it's a cold. He honks his nose into one of the clean rags and goes off the take a nap in the recliner.

Sara bites her lips and makes more Tang.

00oo00

Chores without Grissom are a massive pain in the ass, she decides. He's been out for two days, and she's had to do it all: Haul water and firewood, muck the goats and feed them, dump the shit bucket and cook. She's tired and a little resentful.

And then she feels like crap for that.

00oo00

Winter rolls on. Sometimes it snows, but there are sunny days too. Grissom has taken to hunting an occasional goose and roasting it. Sara won't eat it, but she will drink the broth, and use that with her rice. She's managed to make goat butter, but realizes without rennet tablets, she can't make cheese until spring, if Regina's milk holds out that long.

She's tired a lot, and Grissom encourages her to take naps in the afternoon, when the fire is banked and she can have the bed to herself if she wants.

Sometimes he joins her.

It isn't until mid-February that Sara feels a startled panic and checks the calendar, counting back impatiently.

00oo00

Grissom can't believe he's doing this. Driving out in the snow at nightfall, without chains, and not actually caring about the risk.

Two trips to the drug store loading up everything in sight, and neither one of them thought of picking a test up. Two intelligent, far-sighted people. He shakes his head and concentrates on driving.

00oo00

Sara laughs when he returns, seven tests in hand.

And rennet tablets.

And a can of chocolate frosting.

00oo00

It's awkward, both of them crowding into the bathroom. They never use it anymore, not since the water stopped running, and their reflections in the only mirror in the place stop them for a second.

Sara sees her hair down just past her shoulders, and sharper cheekbones than she remembers. She sees eyes that seem too big for her face.

Grissom sees some old stranger behind Sara. A man with gray going to white, with a bushy beard. A man with a leaner face than he remembers.

For a moment, they forget to check the test and simply stare in the mirror.

00oo00

It's amazing how everything in the universe can change in three minutes.


	4. Chapter 4

That night, Grissom can't sleep. Instead, he sits up and reads The Book from cover to cover. The next night, he does it again.

00oo00

Sara reads The Book in the daytime, propping it up at the table over breakfast. She uses one of the blank pages in the front to start a new shopping list that includes prenatal vitamins, and hopes it's not too late for them to do any good. She counts back and estimates the conception, then counts ahead to estimate the birth.

September.

A Libra.

00oo00

A week later, they wake up and the air is strange and still. Grissom checks the skies as he does the chores, feeling slightly anxious. Something inside urges him to bring in extra water, and move some of the old hay bales from the loft down into the stable. Bucky, Regina and Fred stay closely huddled, their coats shaggy now.

Still alert, Grissom gets the ladder out from the storage shed and climbs up on the roof. He stands and looks around. The sky is a dull pewter, thick with clouds and he can smell a hint of ozone.

And more astonishing than that, far off to the East, he sees smoke. A thin tall plume of it.

A campfire, or a chimney.

00oo00

The storm hits.

First the wind starts up, whipping through the trees and howling along the edges of the cabin. Sara helps Grissom close and bolt the window shutters. They undo one end of the clothes line to let it flap free in the gusts. Grissom grabs loose items and tosses them in the storage shed: the water buckets, the rakes and shovels, the little workbench. He padlocks it and heads into the cabin, bolting the door behind him. The place is dark except for the fire and a few candles.

Sara has soup on.

00oo00

Three days. The snow keeps falling. They let Bruno out once each day and he's back in ten minutes, cold and whining. Grissom goes to the barn to pour boiling water on the ice in the trough there, and check on the goats. He milks Regina, who complains about his cold hands.

Sara teaches Grissom the ultimate cut-throat version of Monopoly—the one that requires private loans from the bank, and sexual favors for passage through hotels on Park Place. Grissom is a quick learner, and creates the Free Parking Hand Job, and the Short Line Lap Dance.

Somehow losing seems to be more fun, Sara decides.

00oo00

When the wind and the snow finally stop, the quiet is overwhelming. They come outside, bundled and blinking against the whiteness. Sara pours the boiling water down the well as Grissom strains against the pump. It takes nearly two pots full, but when the ice cracks down below they both grin.

The goats romp out in the snow, then romp back into the stable. Regina looks pissed, going by goat expressions, and Sara laughs. Bruno is plowing his own trails through, snorting and bounding along.

Grissom tries to turn the engine over in the truck. After a few panicky moments it catches and rumbles.

00oo00

By now Sara has eaten beans and rice with every condiment possible, outside of chocolate sauce. And even that combination is starting to look good to her.

00oo00

Another month passes, and Sara feels thicker. She finds herself rubbing her stomach at times during her sponge baths in front of the fire. She and Grissom have talked about seeking out the mysterious neighbor to the East—if they spot the smoke again, they will.

With precautions, of course.

00oo00

The smoke is still there, rising up in a straight line from a spot Grissom judges to be about four miles over. They've decided to go together—Sara won't let Grissom go alone, and he can't really blame her. He figures with two shotguns and a dog, they're going to have the advantage of whatever or whoever they find.

He hopes.

But sooner or later they're bound to make contact, and Grissom is determined to make the encounter planned rather than surprise. They pack up a few items for possible trade, load the guns, and start out at mid morning. The snow has melted down, and the sky is clear. They lock up the cabin and the stable, then head east.

00oo00

Sara fights from rolling her eyes when Grissom suggests a break. She reminds him she's pregnant, not an invalid. He says the break is for him, since he hears something. He searches around and spots a fallen tree, then steps over to it. Sara listens carefully and she hears it too.

A low humming sound.

She shoots a delighted grin at Grissom, who nods back, and points to the broken end of the tree, where the sound is louder. Grissom grumbles about not having a spray can as he ties his red muffler around the nearest tree, putting it high enough to be seen.

They move on, checking the compass and looking for high ground; for signs of life.

They find them.

00oo00

Down in a little valley is a parking lot and a ranger station. At least, it used to be a ranger station. Now there are piles of wood stacked outside it, and several deer hides over the windows. Smoke rises from the chimney, and Grissom notes that the snow has been cleared from the front door to the outhouses several yards away.

A quick conference; Grissom convinces Sara to stay out of sight while he goes down. She keeps Bruno. One whistle for all clear; two for run. Not perfect, but they're both nervous and excited too.

00oo00

The woman who answers the door has a shotgun too, but as Sara watches through the binoculars, she sees Grissom talking; the woman nodding and finally breaking into a huge smile. Behind the woman is a stirring and a boy appears, blinking in the sunlight. Sara starts moving even before Grissom blows the whistle.

00oo00

Melissa Sanchez-Brown. Divorcee, thin, wiry, tough. Fifteen years service as a Forest Ranger. Her son, Will, twelve. They began stockpiling and setting up six months into H5N1, but a tree fell on their cabin and took off a third of the roof, so they moved into the ranger office in mid-November.

Yes, that was her deer; she twisted an ankle going after it and never got a second shot off. They've got a crank radio too, and a gas generator so they've been in touch with broadcasters out of Reno and Vegas.

It's closer to eighty percent, according to the official numbers, she tells them. She can add them to the count of survivors for Nevada, if they want. That way if anybody's looking for them . . .

00oo00

The four of them talk into the night, over a dinner of canned green beans, deer hash and reconstituted fruit punch. Melissa cries over the gift of peanut butter, and offers up a bag of raw popcorn and some emergency candles in exchange.

00oo00

Grissom and Sara stay one day longer; they need to get back for the goats. Melissa gives them a map of the area. There is a Wal-Mart close by, she tells them, and if they'd like to plan a trip in the spring, she'll siphon gas from one of the dead jeeps in the parking lot.

All the conversation leaves Sara a little dizzy, and she's privately glad to get going back along the route to home. Once they're out of sight of Melissa and Will, Grissom grabs her and kisses her, deep and hard.

Like her, he's begun to appreciate the quiet.

00oo00

Sara is hungry for pancakes. Grissom makes them from one of the boxes of mix, slathering goat butter and grape jelly on them. The fact that it's three in the morning is a little weird, but he's glad to watch her wolf them down, moaning with happiness.

Grissom can feel the sweet roundness curving above Sara's hips now, and rests a hand on it when they sleep.

00oo00

The nightmare steals over him---Sara bleeding, Sara in labor, screaming that she doesn't want the baby, that it has H5N1 and will kill them both. He runs after her, aware that he's stepping in blood, and suddenly the ghosts of his shift are there, blocking his way to Sara: Hodges, Warrick, Ecklie, Mandy, Wendy . . . all of them pale and accusing, yelling at him, while through the fog he sees Sara stumble and fall, crying out . . . .

Grissom wakes up with a yell, pressing a hand to his mouth. Next to him under the blankets, Sara stirs, and burrows into him.

She is warm and doesn't even wake up. Grissom lies awake for the rest of the night.

00oo00

Bruno has a girlfriend.

The short little dog won't come into the yard at first, but Sara sets a dish of kibble out, and gradually wins her trust. She's a fluffy thing; a poodle with no grooming but bright eyes and the marks of a collar. They decide to call her Sadie.

00oo00

Late April now, and the smell of spring is in the air. They've gone to see Melissa twice, taking more rice and some newly made cheese. Melissa hopes to find a goose nest and nab some eggs to raise. Will doesn't talk much, but plays with Bruno and Sadie endlessly during the visits.

Melissa has books, and they swap freely—Survival guides, a big collection of spy and mystery novels. They plan the store visit for next week, and the four of them make out a master list.

00oo00

The store is damaged; the door was open, and clearly wildlife has visited. The floors are strewn with mud and leaf litter. Nonetheless, there's still plenty to be had, since the falling prices have hit free. Will runs up and down the aisles, overwhelmed until his mother calls him back.

Sara moves to the infant department and begins to load up. She feels a sense of satisfaction in picking things that are warm and sturdy. Grissom joins her, and motions with his chin to the assorted furniture. Only two items are taken—a high chair and a baby backpack.

Canned goods, dry goods, more stockpiles of rice, beans and pasta. Melissa wipes away her tears and smiles. She helps Grissom break into the Sporting Goods case and they pull out all the ammo, dividing it up. She motions to the hunting bows, and Grissom thoughtfully takes one, along with a few cases of arrows when Melissa tells him she'll teach him how to hunt with one.

The pharmacy is the last stop. Grissom looks at the pain medications and then at Sara. She shakes her head.

00oo00

Spring. Beautiful wonderful spring. Kneeling in the dirt, Sara could practically kiss the ground as she tenderly plants the seeds she has hoarded through the winter. She's had time to practically memorize the Farmer's Almanac, and now it's the season.

00oo00

Bucky and Regina have been going at it every moment, lately. Sara is amused at how Grissom seems to take his cue from the hot goat on goat action and finds reasons to crowd up behind her in the kitchen.

It's odd, because now that she's rounder—downright chubby in front if she's honest—she also feels . . . sexier. The Book says that's normal.

The book says nothing about how good doggy style feels on a picnic blanket in the warm sunshine down by the lake, and afterwards Sara thinks she definitely should add a footnote about it.

00oo00

Will comes to visit. Not her and Grissom, but the dogs, both of whom slobber over him lovingly. He meets the goats, who are very interested in his smells, and helps Sara with the laundry. He tells her his mother is starting a garden too, and has some rosemary and mint to share.

Sara cuts his hair for him, and feeds him lunch. He helps Grissom trim the goat's hooves and muck out the stalls. When he leaves, both of them invite him to come again.

Sadie goes with him. And it's good.

00oo00

June now, and Grissom is loving the weather. He has cleared an area away from the cabin and is building a bee box in his spare time. Twice now he's visited the hive, checking on it.

He worries about Sara. That will never change, but now it's focused on the baby, and Grissom is still torn between delight and fear; it's hard with no authority to guide them, just The Book. He's read the parts for expectant fathers so often he can close his eyes and see the pages in his mind.

Sara doesn't know it, but he's carved a heart with their initials into the old tree down by the gate of the road. It's a little bit of permanence; a mark that they exist, he supposes. When the baby comes, he will add more initials there too.

00oo00

When the first little shoots of lettuce come up, Sara cries.

Later that night, she feels the baby kick, and brings Grissom's hand to the spot. Grissom wipes his cheek against hers.

00oo00

Melissa and Sara send Grissom and Will out while they can. Melissa has brought jars and seals and wax, along with a bushel of crabapples and some young watermelons and onions. Sara has carrots and little cucumbers, beets and zucchini.

The menfolk can take a hint.

Grissom takes Will fishing. The boy gravely listens to how it's done, and follows Grissom's lead.

They catch five fish—three trout and two perch. Grissom shows Will how to clean them, and tells him he can have the extra fishing pole if he wants. Will nods and smiles. He tells Grissom thanks; he wants to start bringing in **his** share of food.

Grissom nods, but the mingled sense of melancholy and pride turn within him as the next morning, he watches the boy and his mother leave, their backpacks loaded with jars.

00oo00

Sara is studying food preservation as if she is earning a degree in it. Pickling, salting, curing, smoking. Grissom is astonished and a little frightened at her accomplishments as the pantry fills up. He accuses her of channeling her nesting syndrome into food for the winter.

Sara shrugs.

She knows he's probably right, but there's more to it. The sense of urgency is real, and doing something about it feels good. Every jar in the pantry is one more twinge of satisfaction, and all the little things are precious now. Salt, pepper, chocolate. The very fact that life is finite is in her bones.

00oo00

In the hot nights of August, they go out to the lake and lie in the grass, looking up at the stars. She's heavy and round now; the baby kicks a lot, and Grissom talks to it almost as much as he does to her.

00oo00

Regina has twins, both of them girls. Grissom notes that the delivery is fairly easy and that gives him some sense of hope. Both he and Sara will give one twin and Fred to Melissa and Will once the kid's weaned.

Sara is cranky. She has taken to wearing one of Grissom's oldest flannel shirts. Her bras don't fit anymore—not that Grissom is complaining. Her back aches and Grissom has to tie her bootlaces for her.

Grissom loves the sight of her, rounded and slow. It sharpens every protective instinct he has, and gives him patience. He brushes her hair and makes sure she eats. He hopes he's ready.

00oo00

He's not ready.

00oo00

Sara walks around the cabin again, focusing on counting, Bruno tagging along with this weird game. They've circled the place three times now, and when she reaches the porch, she announces that her pains are about twenty minutes apart. She's got lots of time, so they ought to get to the laundry while the sun is shining.

Grissom stares at her.

They hang the laundry. Sara promises to go to bed once she's done the breakfast dishes. Grissom wonders if one of the signs of labor is insanity.

00oo00

It doesn't start hurting until about ten o'clock that night.

Grissom has debated all day whether to bring Melissa or not, but now it's too late. Sweating, Sara tells him to get a knife ready, along with some alcohol. He nods; he's got all that and a rubber band for the umbilical cord, and a lot of receiving blankets.

He rubs her stomach. Sara looks up at him, breathing hard, and tells Grissom this is the last time she lets him in her Christmas stocking.

00oo00

Bald, red and annoyed, Baby Grissom finally makes a debut at ten the next morning. Grissom carefully wipes the baby down, clearing away the vernix and checking the eyes and nose.

Sara props herself up shakily on her elbows, demanding to see, so tired but relaxing a bit now. Her butt makes the plastic tarp crackle a bit, and she feels sticky and gross, but that's fixable.

Grissom brings the baby over, and before passing the bundle to Sara, kisses the little forehead.

00oo00

Grissom writes the name out, trying to keep his hand steady, but it's hard, and he's smiling so much his face hurts. _Honey Vegas Grissom_. He adds the date, and stares at the journal, then looks over. Sara is sleeping, finally. The baby is in a heavy desk drawer lined with blankets, resting on his side of the bed, the drawer surrounded by more blankets.

There's still a lot to clean up, and the chores to do, but he moves through them with a lightness that permeates his entire body. Grissom has never felt this way before, and he pauses in the middle of the yard, aware that he's crying.

00oo00

Sara has shared a love this fierce with one other person on the planet, and now they're both with her under the same roof.

00oo00

Life is different. This autumn is different. The days revolve around the sun and Honey, in that order. Handwashing returns. Playtimes on the big bed. Grissom walks the floor with Honey on his shoulder. Sara nurses her daughter in the recliner.

00oo00

The leaves turn and fall. Melissa trades two geese and a bag of birdseed for the goats and whoops her congratulations. Will shyly looks at the baby.

Sara goes about her day, smiling a little more. She carries Honey in a sling, and they cook together. Grissom takes the baby when Sara naps.

00oo00

Grissom is chopping wood; the weather is still warm, but he's had to clear a few trees along the yard, and extra wood is never a bad thing. He pauses, and that's when he hears the footsteps.

They're coming up the road, slow but getting louder. Grissom looks to the cabin, wondering if he can get his shotgun in time. Into sight comes a stranger.

The man is short, bundled in a down jacket. He has a shotgun across his back, and a walking staff in hand. As he gets closer, Grissom grips his ax, willing Sara to stay inside.

The stranger stops, and looks at Grissom. It's a long pause, and Grissom studies the man. Thick salt and pepper beard, shaggy hair, high forehead, and those eyes. Familiar eyes.

Hey Grissom, says Jim Brass.


End file.
